He drags her off the mattress by one ankle. Her body slides across the stained fabric, limp and slick with sweat, squirt, and spit. She doesn’t resist. Can’t. Her limbs feel detached, heavy, useless. Only her pussy still twitches—raw, gaping slightly, inner walls visible and pulsing weakly like a heartbeat that refuses to quit.

He hauls her to the center of the room again. Drops her to her knees on the cold concrete. The impact jars her teeth. Her bruised tits bounce once, heavy and abused—purple handprints stark against pale skin, nipples dark and swollen to twice their normal size, crusted with dried spit and faint traces of blood from scraping.